


Metal Fatigue

by corbyinoz



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2019-02-03 13:18:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12749112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corbyinoz/pseuds/corbyinoz
Summary: It's been a horrible day. Scott's there to check, but Virgil's fine.





	Metal Fatigue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Soleil_Lumiere](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soleil_Lumiere/gifts).



> This is a just a little gift for my dear Soleil_Lumiere, one of the most beautiful souls on the planet.

Virgil’s room was mostly grey. Charcoal to dove, with some maroon and silver to highlight. His art room was the place for chaotic colour and bold shapes, slapped and dashed about as the mood struck him; here, in his sanctum sanctorum, all was quiet and calm and soothing.

He sat on his bed. The comforter was a thin one, as much present for its psychological nestling qualities as a need to warm after a brutal mission. The mattress was firm, his pillows soft, and the view from where he sat this evening was mostly rock wall with defiant little ferns taking the water sprayed from above and making tiny hands of green against its severity.

He wasn’t looking outside. His gaze was focused on his hands. They lay loosely in his lap, fingers curled slightly upwards, the callouses on his index fingers hidden by the dim lighting in the room.

A brisk knock, and Scott entered. Knocking for Scott was an act of announcement, not a request for permission.

“Hey. Thought I’d find you in here. You okay?”

Virgil lifted his eyes, and one eyebrow.

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah. Good.” Scott’s body language was less certain of its welcome than his vocal one; he sidled in, fitting a hip to the corner of the bureau and using it as a bolster. “Good. Figured you would be.”

A half shrug.

”You know me.”

“Yeah.” Scott gave a soft chuckle. “I know you. Gordon’s out there, being dramatic, so I thought I’d – just, you know, come check you out.”

“Appreciate it.”

“Mmm.” It seemed to Virgil that the conversation was done, but Scott stayed there, his gaze travelling over the bare walls, the lone photo-board, the window. Virgil waited. “Yeah. Well, you do know that – uh, when I say Gordon’s being dramatic? He’s not really being dramatic.”

Virgil gave the smallest of sighs, a breath looking to die from sheer exhaustion.

“Scott, I don’t know what Gordon is doing, but I’m fine.”

“Yeah. But I mean, he’s got grounds. It’s not his usual – it’s not like he doesn’t deserve…” 

Funny, in a way, to watch a man flounder while half-sitting on a piece of furniture not designed for the use.

“It was a tough one.”

Sometimes Virgil’s kindness astounded even him. Scott grabbed the lifeline with gratitude.

“Tough, absolutely. Just a lousy outcome. I’ve been going over the logistics, looking at John’s data – I never want to …”

To hear that again. To see that again.

Virgil gave a half-shrug.

“It was equipment failure, Scott. Nothing you or I or Gordon could have done in the moment. I want to see a complete overhaul tomorrow morning, first light, all the pods and the grapples, all of it.”

“Definitely. I’d start tonight but we’re all exhausted.”

“Agreed. So tomorrow, first thing, but what happened today? It’s no-one’s fault. We’ve never encountered that kind of weapon before. You and I both know that metal fatigue can occur when unusual stressors are applied.” He deepened his voice a little, deliberately. “No one’s fault, Scott. You need to tell Gordon and John and especially Brains.”

“Yeah.” Scott sat quietly, off-balance, looking downward at the carpet. For a long moment the only sound was the soft gurgle of the water running down the rock face outside the room. Virgil waited him out. This was what he did for Scott, after all.

At last Scott gave a little shiver, as if coming up from somewhere cold and dark and bleak. 

“No one’s fault. Metal fatigue under unknowable stress. You’re right. Of course you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right,” Virgil agreed.

Scott allowed his hip to slide off the bureau.

“I’ll go and see if I can talk to Gordon. This one’s really gotten to him.”

Virgil nodded. “Sure. Was a tough one.”

“Okay. Okay, good.”

But he lingered, and Virgil wondered what else he had left to give his big brother.

“I just – the calls. The – the, uh, audio-stream was …”

“Maybe check in on John, first. Gordon will be okay. Grandma’s here, Al’s here, he’s got us.”

“John? Yeah, maybe I should do that.”

Virgil nodded.

“He’ll need you now, Scott.”

“He will, won’t he?” And somehow, the placing of a burden lifted Scott’s shoulders, so that for the first time Vigil appreciated that their rounding was due less to tiredness and more to something intangible. “I better go do that. You’ll be okay?”

“I’m fine, Scott.” And he managed to say it without pointing out that they’d travelled around a three minute conversation to reach the same point of departure.

“Good. Okay. Come out in a bit?”

Virgil nodded again. “In a bit.”

“Right then.” And with a nod in return, something crisp where it had been tentative, Scott left the room, closing the door behind him again.

The loss of the hall lighting brought the room immediately into darkness, and then gradually once more into the half-light that meant serenity to Virgil, that meant job done and mind cleared, body easing into rest and a forgetting of the day’s tasks.

He sat on his bed. Outside the water trickled, the ferns sparked with the drops, the light dimmed to reflect night and beckon sleep.

And slowly, gradually, imperceptibly, the hands lying in his lap curled upwards and inwards until the nails dug deep into his flesh and his blood and their edges disappeared into the grip that let go.


End file.
